


Fight Club

by Quinny_555



Series: Carry On My Prodigal Son [1]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019), Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Malcolm Bright, Don't Have To Know About Supernatural (TV), Gen, Hurt Malcolm Bright, Kidnapping, Malcolm Bright Whump, Malcolm Just Can't Catch a Break, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Swearing, The Crossover Isn't Huge in This One, huh?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22644940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quinny_555/pseuds/Quinny_555
Summary: They were working on a series of kidnappings. All of the victims were young men that were physically fit. Only two of the victims had been found; both were beaten to death.“Look, he won't last long. Which means that he won't be able to talk, which means that we won't get caught.”orin which Malcolm just can't catch a break.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright & Dani Powell, Malcolm Bright & JT Tarmel
Series: Carry On My Prodigal Son [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636342
Comments: 72
Kudos: 282





	1. A fuckin’ cop? Are you serious?

“A fuckin’ cop? Are you serious?” were the first words Malcolm heard when he came to from a strangely dreamless sleep. The voice didn't sound too close to him, but he didn't open his eyes or move regardless. 

“He’s not even a real cop. They called him a “consultant”,” the other man argued, bristling at the scolding tone. 

“So? You're just putting a target on our backs.” 

“I thought you would be happy about this! He was important enough to be at the crime scene, but not an actual cop. That means he probably doesn't even have training.” 

“It's not him I'm worried about and you know it.” Malcolm was a little offended that they didn't think he was a threat, but he supposed it was fair; he _was_ of a relatively small and slight stature. 

“He was on to us. I know you don't like it, but he's here now, yeah?” Ah, now he remembered. They were working on a series of kidnappings. All of the victims were young men that were physically fit. Only two of the victims had been found; both were beaten to death. 

“Look, he won't last long. Which means that he won't be able to talk, which means that we won't get caught.” 

“You better be right about that, or it’ll be your head,” the other man growled before storming off. A door that sounded heavy slammed behind him and locked. The man who had brought him here let out a sigh of relief. There were footsteps and then the man was standing right over him. 

“Alright, pretty boy, get up.” Malcolm didn't react. The man huffed and kicked him in the side. Malcolm grunted as he rolled onto his side. He was stopped by the cuffs around his wrists, which were connected to the floor a few feet away. “I said, wake up.” Malcolm glared at the man, but didn't say anything. Apparently, his feedback wasn't necessary. “You know, I was surprised by how much of a fight you put up. Normally the drugs have them out like a light before they even know what hit 'em.” Malcolm remembered what happened, but it was fuzzy. Probably a side effect of whatever they injected him with. “Let's just hope you go down easier this time.” Malcolm’s eyes went wide as the man pulled another syringe out of his pocket. 

“Wait, wait, wait, you don't have to do this,” he said desperately, his voice scratchy from disuse. He tried to scramble away as the man advanced on him, only to be brought up short once again by the cuffs. 

“I know,” the man said, grinning. 

~~~ 

“What do you mean he’s gone?” Dani demanded as she shared a bewildered look with JT. Gil was ordering officers to pull up some video feed, a parking garage near the station. The scene of the latest kidnapping. 

“We were on the phone. I told the kid not to go to the crime scene, but he kept insisting that he was missing something. He went back and they attacked him, I think they smashed his phone,” Gil said, panic clawing at the edges of his consciousness. They finally pulled up the tapes. There was no sound, just a black and white video feed. “There!” he said as soon as Bright walked into view. It was dated at over half an hour ago. 

“Are you sure he didn't just drop it?” JT asked skeptically, watching the kid wave his arms around as he ranted into the phone. Dani shushed him. 

They watched as a man wearing a mask walked into the frame behind Bright. He grabbed Bright’s hand and twisted it until he released the phone; he pulled the hand behind his back and jammed a syringe into his neck. Bright continued to fight him, but the man was much larger and trapped his other hand easily. He continued to thrash against his captor as he was pulled off-screen.

They all stared at the screen for several moments, none of them quite sure what to say. 

“All right,” Gil said, clenching his fists. “Let's get to work. Bright’s not gonna find himself.” 

~~~ 

Jack heard the prisoner murmur in his sleep as the truck pulled to a stop. He frowned; he shouldn't have been coming to for hours. The kid was twitching, pulling against his bonds as he said something Jack couldn't make out. He was already annoyed with the kid and this was not helping his mood. The unconscious man was getting increasingly louder as he fought against the restraints. 

“Don't, don't open, don't go in there! Don't touch me, let go!” He shouted as he sat up, breathing hard. His eyes darted around, looking for threats. He actually _relaxed_ when he saw Jack. For his part, Jack was exasperated. 

“How the fuck are you even awake right now?” He growled as the kid blinked up at him. 

“Um, I don't know?” Malcolm figured that “I take hard drugs for breakfast” would not be a sufficient answer. The doors to the truck opened and two large men stepped in. 

“You should get sleep where you can get it,” the man said as the two others pulled him to his feet. “You're gonna need it.”


	2. 5'7" is NOT That Short

Malcolm, for his part, was a little miffed. He may not be the tallest person around, but he is not the shortest either. Well, he very well may be the shortest around _here_ , but not in general. 5’7 is not by any means a ridiculous height, but everyone here seemed to think so. 

“I asked for someone in peak physical shape,” the man, who Malcolm supposed was the owner of this place, said. 

“He is!” His kidnapper insisted.

“He’s tiny,” the man said, shooting Malcolm a disdainful look. Malcolm might have argued if not for the tape covering his mouth. “Not to mention thin. I'm trying to make a profit here, Jack.” 

“Just give him a chance, okay? What harm will it do?” 

“You're lucky I like you, alright?” The owner relented, and Malcolm couldn't decide whether that was a good thing or not. Based on the predatory look in his eye and the shape of the recovered victims, he was leaning towards the latter. “Well, don't just stand there. Get him to the kennel!” The owner shouted at one of the men standing near. He complied, pulling Malcolm to his feet and dragging him out of the room. They went down a series of nearly identical hallways until they came upon a door with more locks than Malcolm thought were strictly necessary. 

Upon entrance, Malcolm thought the room was appropriately named. There were long rows of cells, each one containing a person. He was pushed along to the shouts and jeers of the other prisoners until they came upon an empty cell. He was unceremoniously shoved in and the door was locked behind him. Malcolm pulled the tape off of his face as soon as the guard was out of sight and settled in to wait. 

~~~ 

He didn't have to wait as long as he had thought he would. It was both a blessing and a curse; he didn't particularly want to be alone with his thoughts, but he also wasn't sure that what was coming would be much better. The cell was opened and he was dragged out by a different man this time. While he couldn't be sure, Malcolm thought he recognized most of the hallways they went through. 

Eventually, they pushed through a set of double doors and into a dimly lit room full of people. He couldn't see what they were all gathered around until they had pushed through to the front. Upon seeing what they were all yelling about, his stomach dropped. He had been expecting something like this, but he had been hoping that he was wrong for once. A large steel cage was situated in the center of the room, a looming threat. His cuffs were unceremoniously unlocked and he was shoved into the cage. The roar of the crowd was thunderous, and a voice came over the speakers. 

“ _For the second show of the night we have our newest arrival against The Crusher,”_ The man said and if Malcolm had thought the crowd was loud before they were damn well deafening now. The door on the other side of the cage opened and a man stepped in. He was wearing the same sweat pants and t-shirt that Malcolm was and Malcolm wondered if they bought them in bulk. 

“Really? I thought these fights were supposed to be tough,” the man said to no one in particular as he eyed Malcolm. 

“Yes, well, life is full of disappointments,” Malcolm said sarcastically. The man growled and lunged for him. The man may be bigger than him, but he was obviously not the sharpest tool in the shed. Malcolm sidestepped his attack, keeping his stance loose. 

The man stumbled, thrown off balance by the lack of resistance. Malcolm took the opportunity to further study his fighting style as they circled each other. It was obvious that “The Crusher” was not trained formally. His attempted blows were sloppy and he seemed to be relying on brute strength. 

“Come on, can't take down a little guy like me?” Malcolm baited and was not disappointed. The man swung and Malcolm ducked before slamming the heel of his hand into the larger man’s nose. He felt it snap under the force of the blow. The man stumbled back and Malcolm didn't hesitate to follow the retreat. Before the man could take two steps Malcolm swung, his left hook hitting him right on the jaw. Malcolm knew that the jaw was generally considered to be the knockout button, but he didn't really expect the man to go down like a sack of bricks. 

His hand was tingling and he knew that it would hurt like a bitch when the adrenalin wore off. He blinked as he felt hands on his arms, pulling him out of the now open door and back into the monotonous hallways. While he wouldn't remember a lot of the rest of that night, he would vaguely remember someone telling him that winning would earn him benefits, like dinner for the night. He was surprised that they didn't re-cuff him before throwing him back into his cell, but that all faded along with his consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that the fact that Malcolm is as tall as me is absolutely hysterical. Though I am pretty tall for a woman most male actors have at least a few inches on me, and I appreciate that he does not. Also, forgive any mistakes (grammatical or otherwise) I am my own betta and constantly sleep-deprived.


	3. "It's Good To Have A Plan"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm would have been pleased to know that his team was doing well.  
> *Crash*  
> “Fuck!”  
> Well, sort of.

_The forest seemed endless, but he had to keep running. Tree branches snagged his clothes and tore at his skin. If he stopped he knew the man would catch up. He could hear the heavy footfalls behind him, but he didn't dare turn, didn't dare stop, if he stopped he would catch up, keep going, don't stop, no, don't, stop, don’t,stopdon’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop, heavy arms seizing him, he can't fight back, letgoletgoletgo please I’m sorry, I’M SORRY PLEASE-_

“PLEASE!” Malcolm screamed, throwing himself to his feet with nowhere to go. He panted and leaned against the wall, regaining his bearings as well as his breath. He could hear some of the other men complaining about how loud he was being, but he blocked them out. He glanced around the cell and was bemused to see a small plate of food next to a sealed water bottle near the door. Further inspection revealed that it was a turkey sandwich sitting on the plate. There were no windows, so he couldn't tell what time it was, but based on how quiet the other prisoners were being he figured it was early. He ate as much of the sandwich as he could, scowling at the taste (or lack thereof) and wondering how his team was doing. 

~~~ 

Malcolm would have been pleased to know that his team was doing well. 

_Crash_

_“Fuck!”_

Well, sort of. 

“How is it that we have no leads? People don't just disappear!” Danni growled, kicking the shattered remains of her mug. She was glad that there had been nothing in it except for the last dredges of her cold coffee. 

“Well, he didn't disappear. We saw what happened, we just… don't know where he is now,” JT offered, feeling no less frustrated. The door opened and Gil strode in, grabbing his coat off of the back of his chair. 

“There’s been another attempted kidnapping,” Gil said, gesturing for them to follow. 

“Attempted?” Dani clarified as they followed him out of the building. 

“He managed to fight them off before they could drug him. He’s at the hospital now.” 

It was easy to see how the man could have fought off his attacker. He was tall and well built, though he was sporting a split lip and bruising around his eye. 

“Yeah man, I teach a women’s self-defense class. I knew the guy was following me as soon as I saw his car,” he said, rolling his shoulder. “I got his car’s description and a part of his plate.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Dani. 

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “We’ll get these guys.” 

“It’s no problem; people like them make me sick.” He scowled and winced slightly as the stitches on his lip pulled. 

“Once they get your statement you’ll be free to go,” she told him and all but fled the room to get started on running the plate. 

~~~ 

Malcolm’s ears were ringing from the force of the blow, but he managed to stumble out of the way of a second one. He knew he had to end this quickly or else he would not last much longer. This man was not as sloppy as “The Crusher” was, and _d_ _amn_ he packed a punch. He took to circling the man, hoping to find an opening or at least give himself time to make a plan. 

_“It’s good to have a plan.”_ Now was so not the time for a hallucination. His mind seemed to think that now was the optimal time to remind him that he hadn't taken his meds since before he had been taken. 

He noticed the man was favoring his left side and decided that was his opening. The man kicked out, landing a solid blow to Malcolm’s knee. He went down on his other knee with a grunt and lashed out at the man’s side before he could strike again. The man gave a shout of pain and spun with the blow to reduce the impact. 

Unfortunately for him, this left his back open to Malcolm. Malcolm did not waste the opportunity, lunging forward to wrap his arms around his opponent’s neck. Panic rose briefly as the man stood and his feet left the ground. However, he only tightened his hold and wrapped his legs around his torso. The man grunted as Malcolm’s heel dug into his injured side. He tried to pull Malcolm's arms off with his hands. When that didn't work he resorted to slamming his back against the bars of the cage. 

All of Malcolm’s breath left him in a rush, but he didn't let go. Letting go meant losing and losing most certainly meant death. The man ran into the bars again and Malcolm felt his ribs creak under the pressure. The man’s struggles grew weaker as he gradually ran out of oxygen. He knelt and though Malcolm’s feet hit the ground he did not relent. He only released the man once he was fully unconscious. 

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and he swung around, ready to fight. However, the man made no further move to attack. 

“The Boss wants to see you,” was all he said before dragging Malcolm out of the cage and through the roaring crowd.

~~~ 

To Malcolm’s surprise, they took him to get cleaned up before he met “The Boss”. He was shoved into a locker room of sorts and told to do what he needed to do. He complied as quickly as possible, relishing in the chance to feel relatively clean again. 

He was surprised that the Boss’s office was nice, the opulent atmosphere of the room contrasting starkly with the rundown feel of the rest of the building. The Boss was sitting on a leather couch when they entered. 

“Ah, Bright, is it?” The Boss said pleasantly as Malcolm was shoved into the chair opposite him. Malcolm gave a sharp nod and didn't elaborate further. The man just chuckled and stood. “How about a drink?” 

“No, thank you,” he said shortly despite the fact that he really could use a drink. 

“So, Bright, I'll be honest. I called you here because I was curious,” he said when he sat back down. “You don't look like you would last five minutes in the ring, yet here you are.” The question was obviously implied. 

“I've had a lot of training,” Malcolm answered mildly. He figured that playing nice would get him more than going on the defensive. 

“Yes, that is what I was wondering about. Jack was going on about you being a consultant, but I don't believe I've ever heard of a consultant who would need to have extensive training.” Malcolm didn't answer this time. The man’s mouth tightened slightly in displeasure, but the expression was quickly replaced with one of curiosity. “You're clearly experienced in hand to hand combat; where did you learn?” Malcolm continued to study the man sitting across from him instead of answering his question. He watched as anger flashed across his face at being ignored. 

“Are all of your fighters captives or are some of them being paid?” Malcolm asked. 

“Does it matter?” the boss asked rhetorically. 

“Does it?” Malcolm challenged. They stared each other down for several seconds before the boss laughed. 

“I like you, Bright, you know that?” he paused and took a sip of his drink. “Not all of my fighters stay in the kennel. You could have much more... pleasant accommodations. That is, if you're willing to work for them,” the boss said, leering pointedly. Malcolm gripped the armrests of the chair and subconsciously bared his teeth at the insinuation. 

“Fuck off,” he growled. The boss sighed but didn't seem particularly surprised. 

“I'll give you time to think on it,” he said and waved a hand at the guards. They grabbed him by both arms and pulled him out of the room. Malcolm couldn't help but be relieved when all they did was bring him back to his cell. He settled in for a long night of profiling; after all, it’s good to have a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a good case study in my lack of self-control :) but it's fine, this whole fic is self-indulgent.


	4. Well... I Never Said It Was a Good Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm has a plan. He never said it was a great plan.

So, his plan may not be the best. There was a slight nuance here; his plan also wasn't the worst. So, you know. Call it a win. 

“You know, my boy, I gotta say. I am not too impressed with this plan of yours,” the hallucination of his father commented as the blue ball he was throwing bounced back at him. Malcolm flinched as the ball hit the wall again, the loud sound ringing in his ear. 

“Could- could you just shut up?” he hissed, pointedly not looking at the hallucination. The ball stopped hitting the wall, but he could tell that the hallucination would still be there when he turned around; he was not disappointed. Dr. Whitly was now looking around the cell with a critical eye. 

“You know, my cell at Claremont was much nicer than this even before the renovations,” he commented. “Well, at least they are providing _some_ accommodations.” He glanced at the toilet in the corner of the room with distaste. 

“If you're going to be here, will you at least be helpful?” Malcolm asked. 

“Well, I am a part of your subconscious. I can’t tell you anything you don't already know, unfortunately.” Malcolm took a calming breath. And then the ball was back. 

Malcolm was sure he would have done something drastic if the cell door had not opened at that moment. 

~~~ 

They called his latest opponent “The Moose”. The name was not inaccurate. The guy was at least 6’5 and had longer hair, which was pulled out of his face in a messy ponytail. He may have been tall, but he was not as threatening as the others Malcolm had faced. Malcolm studied him as they circled each other and was surprised to see the other man seemed to be watching him just as intently. Malcolm feigned to the left, but The Moose didn't go for it. 

“I don't want to hurt you,” the man’s voice was deep and steady. He spoke barely loud enough to be heard. Malcolm didn't respond in case it was some sort of trap to throw him off. “You’re clearly injured from a previous fight, and well…” he gestured vaguely. 

“Yeah, well, looks like we don't have much choice.” The Moose nodded sagely and swung. It was obviously not meant to surprise him and Malcolm blocked it easily. 

“I’m Sam, by the way. Winchester.” 

“Malcolm Bright,” he nodded at the strange man. “And, uh, I kind of need you to injure me.” He had expected the man to be much more aggressive, which wasn't good for his plan. 

“You sure?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow. Malcolm nodded and Sam sprang forward. The force of the blow sent him crashing into the bars of the cage, and Sam was on him before he could even catch his breath. “Is there a reason I’m injuring you?” he asked quietly as he got Malcolm into a chokehold. His arm pressed tight enough to look real but not enough to completely cut off his airflow. Malcolm noted that the guy was a skilled fighter who most definitely had training. 

“I have a plan… sort of,” he managed before elbowing Sam in the gut. Sam released him and stepped back, holding his side. “But I need it to look realistic.” 

He swung at Sam but the larger man grabbed his arm and pulled him forward. Luckily, his face broke his fall. Malcolm saw stars as Sam grabbed his arm and twisted it. Malcolm wasn't sure of the rules, but smacking the ground three times resulted in his release. 

“Good luck with your plan, Malcolm,” Sam said quietly before he was ushered bodily out of the cage. Malcolm gasped as one of the guards hauled him up by his injured arm. 

“I want to see the boss,” Malcolm managed past the white-hot pain in his shoulder. 

“Good thing he has already requested you. You could be punished for making demands like that,” the guard said derisively. 

~~~ 

“So,” the boss said, “have you changed your mind? I bet we could even get that shoulder looked at if you choose to be cooperative.” Malcolm kept his eyes down and his good shoulder slumped. He knew that his plan wouldn't work if he looked too confident or composed. 

“I, uh, I may be open to negotiation.” He spared a glance at the boss and was relieved to see that he didn't look suspicious. 

“Good, that’s good.” Malcolm nodded and glanced nervously at the two men standing on either side of his chair. The boss noticed and smiled disarmingly. “Of course, we would talk in private.” This was obviously aimed at the guards. One of them pulled a pair of cuffs out of his pocket. 

“I-is this really necessary?” He stammered, looking imploringly at the boss. 

“Don't worry, it’s merely a precaution.” 

_“Don't push it,”_ the hallucination of his father hissed. _“You can work with cuffs, not with the thugs.”_

“Alright,” he said timidly. He was relieved that they didn't lock him to the chair, but was still miffed by the cuffs. 

“Tell me, Bright, what exactly are you willing to do for me if I choose to make your life easier,” he asked when the men left the room and locked the door behind them. 

_“Play to what he wants.”_

“Whatever you want,” he glanced up at the man and knew he had him hooked. The boss stood and circled around to the back of Malcolm’s chair. Malcolm flinched slightly when he grabbed his shoulders. 

“Let’s start simple,” he whispered into Malcolm’s ear. Malcolm shuddered in revulsion, but nodded regardless. The boss turned his back and walked to his liquor cabinet. “What do you drink?” He asked. Malcolm remained silent for several moments. 

“Come now, don't be shy-” he cut off abruptly as Malcolm pulled his handcuff chains taught against his throat. His hands went instinctively to his throat as he thrashed against Malcolm’s hold. He kicked the cabinet and Malcolm pulled even harder, thinking that the sound would surely have them running. However, there was no reaction from anyone outside the door. 

_“They probably think you're the one being attacked."_ Malcolm ignored that comment as he lowered the boss to the floor. He quickly got to rummaging through his pockets. He found several useful things: a handcuff key, a cell phone, a wallet (apparently his name was Paul. Malcolm didn't see it.), and a tablet strip with some sort of white tablets inside. 

_“Those look a lot like Rohypnol.”_ Malcolm shuddered and pocketed them. He moved on to unlocking the cuffs, then the phone. The cell phone was password-protected, but a fingerprint from Paul was enough to crack it. 

_“Arroyo.”_ Malcolm could have cried at hearing Gil’s voice. 

“Gil,” he whispered, looking nervously in the direction of the door. 

_“Malcolm, is that you? Are you okay? Where are you?”_ Gil demanded. 

“Yeah, it’s me. I'm mostly fine, but I don't know where I am. I need you to trace the call. I was right; the victims fought to the death.” 

_“We’re putting a trace on the call. Stay where you are.”_

“I don't really have anywhere-” he paused at the abrupt sounds outside the door. The sounds stopped abruptly and someone turned the doorknob. “We have a problem,” he muttered right before the door opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to those who know who Sam is :) I wasn't exactly subtle.


	5. Withdrawal Is A Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The look Dean was giving him made him want to flee. Malcolm glanced at the door behind him. Dean tightened his grip on his gun. That was the last straw. Malcolm bolted.  
> or  
> The chapter in which I couldn't help but insert two of my favorite characters to help the plot along.

The person standing in the doorway paused a moment to take in the scene. His gaze locked on Malcolm, who was sure he looked like hell. He pointed his gun at Malcolm. 

“You know where they keep the prisoners in this place?” he asked. 

“Uh, yeah. I mean, all of these hallways look the same, but probably.” The man nodded and gestured for Malcolm to step out of the room. 

“Put down the phone and come with me.” Malcolm, sensing that he didn't have much choice in the matter, did as he was bid. 

The bowlegged man had short brown hair and worried green eyes that were constantly scanning for threats. 

“So, is this supposed to be a rescue for someone or should I be worried?” Malcolm asked carefully. The man narrowed his eyes at Malcolm. 

“Rescue. Whether you should be worried depends entirely on why you are here,” was the answer he received. 

“I didn't exactly have much choice in the matter,” Malcolm muttered as they came upon the kennel. “This should be where your rescuee is.” 

The man took one look at the locks and grunted. 

“You might want to back up,” was all the warning Malcolm got before he raised his gun and shot the locks. The man pushed the now unlocked door open and gestured for Malcolm to enter the room. It was chaos, men yelling and banging on the bars. One voice stood out above them all though. 

“Malcolm?” Sam stood as close to the bars as he could get, trying to get a better look. “Is this part of your escape plan?” 

“Not _mine._ ” 

“Sammy!” the man pushed past Malcolm to get a better look at Sam. “Are you alright?” 

“I'm fine, Dean. Just bored waiting for you to get here; took you a whole day this time,” Sam said playfully. Dean snorted and shook his head. 

“Let's just get out of here.” 

Sam backed up like he was anticipating Dean’s destructive method of freeing him. He didn't even flinch when Dean shot the lock; Malcolm was beginning to suspect that they were involved in something shady. Sam stepped out of the cell and Dean hugged him as soon as he was clear of the bars. 

“Alright, let’s go,” Dean said, starting toward the door. Malcolm shuffled his feet slightly. 

“We should wait for backup,” he blurted, a phantom pain pulsing in his ribs. 

_“No, I want you to actually say it. Wait. For. Backup.”_

Dean turned and looked at him sharply. 

“Backup?” He demanded. 

“Yes. I’m with the police. They’ll be here soon.” The last part was tacked in an attempt to make sure Dean didn't do anything drastic. Dean took a menacing step towards Malcolm, who took two stumbling steps away. Sam put his hand on Dean’s chest before he could move any further. 

“Dean,” he said warningly. “It's not his fault we’re here; we have to leave before they get here.” 

Malcolm had faced down many serial killers, but he had never done it while not on his meds. He was really feeling the effects of withdrawal now: shaking, muscle aches, headache, and he was freezing. He was also full of anxiety (but when was he not?) and his hallucinations were getting worse. 

The look Dean was giving him made him want to flee. His brain was screaming at him to _move, escape, get out of here, go, go, go, run, run, run, RUN._

Malcolm glanced at the door behind him. Dean tightened his grip on his gun. That was the last straw. Malcolm bolted. 

“Malcolm, wait!” he heard Sam yell after him, but he was too far gone to care. 

_“We’re the same.”_

_“Wait for backup.”_

_“Find me.”_

_“Let’s start simple.”_

It was all too overwhelming, too many things happening in his head, too many _memories_. 

_“Too much trama wrapped up in your poor head, my boy.”_

Large arms grabbed him. He couldn't fight back and it was too similar, _heavy arms seizing him, he can't fight back, letgoletgoletgo please I’m sorry, I’M SORRY PLEASE-_

“Malcolm, you have to calm down!” someone familiar shouted through the haze of his mind. It was the same person who was restraining him. It was… not John Watkins. Sam? No. Yes. Definitely yes. Sam continued to say something about him needing to take deep breaths, and eventually, his gasping subsided. Once his mind had cleared as much as it could in the midst of withdrawal Sam released him. 

“S-” he cleared his throat, his voice hoarse from yelling. “Sorry about that, I’m not sure what…” he trailed off. 

“You don't need to apologize,” Sam said quietly, giving him a small smile. 

There was movement in his peripheral vision and he tensed when he realized it was Dean. The man in question shuffled uncomfortably as he rubbed the back of his neck. 

“I, uh, I just wanted to-” he glanced at Sam, who scowled back, “I wanted to say sorry for freaking you out,” he managed gruffly. 

Malcolm just nodded at him and avoided eye contact. 

“I'm going to go look for an exit. You good here?” At Sam’s nod Dean practically fled. Malcolm just stared after him. 

“Sorry about my brother,” Sam said, rolling his eyes slightly. “We don't have a particularly good relationship with the law, and he can get… protective. But he means well.” 

Sam stood, offering a hand to Malcolm. A loud crash sounded on the other said of the building as Sam pulled Malcolm to his feet. Dean came running around the corner. 

“We gotta make our exit, man,” he warned, clearly having also heard the crash. There were shouts and Malcolm could have sobbed when he heard “NYPD” being shouted. 

“Will you be okay here?” Sam asked Malcolm, who nodded. “It was good meeting you.” 

The footsteps of the SWAT team were getting progressively closer. 

“You two better get out of here,” Malcolm said. Sam nodded, patted him on the shoulder, and they were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry for those of you who don't watch Supernatural, that is the last we will be seeing of that duo (in this story). On the other hand, if you do watch Supernatural, I have several Supernatural stories posted on this account as well. :)


	6. Just In Case You Were Wondering What The Team Has Been Doing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a glimpse of what the team has been doing while Malcolm was getting wrecked.

_ Two days earlier _

Gil walked out of the interrogation room, closing the door lightly behind him. 

“That Jack is a real piece of work,” he said by way of greeting to the two detectives who were waiting for him, “Have you found anything in the car?” 

“His car has a GPS,” Dani reported, looking optimistic, “I'm willing to bet he is dumb enough to enter the coordinance of anywhere he has to go; including where he keeps his captives.” 

“There’s no way he is the one in charge of all of this. The guy doesn't even know when to ask for a lawyer,” Gil said, shaking his head. 

“No,” JT agreed, “But he is the delivery guy; he has to drop ‘em somewhere.” 

As it turns out, Dani was right. He was dumb enough to enter the coordinance of every place he went. Unfortunately, he did not drive that car to where the captives were held. 

“Damnit,” JT growled, pulling off his earpiece. They had searched everywhere. He wasn't here. The only sign that anyone had been held in the warehouse was a set of chains bolted to the ground and an empty syringe. Bright was the last one taken, which means that both were used on him at some point. And they still hadn't found him. 

“We were so close,” Dani whispered, shaking her head. The whole situation felt like a punch to the gut. After seeing what John Watkins had done to him, Dani had felt the need to protect Bright. Though he wouldn't ever admit it, JT felt the same way. “We just spent two whole days chasing down a dead end.” 

Gil scowled as he approached them. 

“We have to keep lo-” he was cut off by his phone ringing. The number was unknown. 

“Arroyo,” he answered. 

_ “Gil,”  _ Gil’s breath caught at the voice on the other end of the line. 

“Malcolm, is that you? Are you okay? Where are you?” he demanded. He  _ had _ to know that his kid was okay. 

_ “Yeah, it’s me. I'm mostly fine, but I don't know where I am. I need you to trace the call. I was right; the victims fought to the death.”  _ the kid rambled. Gil wanted to tell him that this was not the right time to be completing his profile. 

“We’re putting a trace on the call. Stay where you are.” he put his hand over the reviver and hissed at Dani to get the call traced. 

_ “I don't really have anywhere-”  _ Malcolm paused. Gil couldn't quite make out what was happening in the background.  _ “We have a problem,”  _ the kid whispered. 

“What? What does that mean? Malcolm?” Malcolm didn't hang up, but he didn't answer him either. There was the sound of a door opening. 

_ “You know where they keep the prisoners in this place?” _ a man asked. Gil tensed. 

_ “Uh, yeah. I mean, all of these hallways look the same, but probably.”  _ Malcolm answered, sounding nervous. 

_ “Put down the phone and come with me.”  _ Malcolm did as he was told. 

“Malcolm, do not put that phone down! Malcolm!” Gil shouted, but Malcolm was already walking away. “Shit,” 

“What happened?” JT asked, startled by the panic in Gil’s voice. 

“I-I'm not sure. He went with someone, it sounded like they had a weapon. Where is that damn trace?” he snapped. Dani hung up with whoever she had called. 

“They have an address,” 

~~~

Everyone on Gil’s team insisted on storming with the SWAT team. None of them were going to sit on the sidelines and wait for their friend to be rescued. 

The halls were eerily silent (they would soon find most of the people who would have been considered threats locked in utility closets). They came upon a large room that had a sizeable cage in the middle. Dani was gaping at the cage (seriously, what the fuck?) when a scream rang out from across the building. 

_ “I’m sorry, I’M SORRY PLEASE-”  _ his voice cut off. Dani would have sworn her heart stopped. It was Bright, of course it was Bright. They moved in the direction of the voice, but it was hard to tell where anything was. Everything echoed in the halls. 

“NYPD!” the leader at the head of their group shouted as they stormed the halls. She wondered if TJ’s group had heard the scream too.

When she first saw Bright, she thought the worst. He was leaned against the wall, his shoulders hunched, holding his side. He looked up, eyes wide and cloudy. He relaxed once he processed what was happening. Suddenly Gil was at his side, pulling off his headgear and pulling Bright into a hug. 

“Are you okay?” Bright was looking up at him with his not quite there gaze and Gil knew it was a silly question. 

“I mean… yes?” he sounded lost, but Gil was just so relieved to hear his voice. The rest of the SAWT team moved to secure the building. “I- I don't… I think I’m-” his eyes rolled back and Gil caught him before he hit the ground. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We got Valentine's Day off for a teacher workday, so I decided to add a chapter about the team before the final chapter :).


	7. Smoothies and Unknown Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm gets an unexpected call and learns that he really likes smoothies.

Malcolm was instantly suspicious when he heard voices as he came to from a strangely dreamless sleep. He could feel that he was restrained and he didn't open his eyes as he processed his surroundings: the telltale scent if antiseptic, a faint beeping, the whirring of machines, and the stiffness of the uncomfortable bed. He had been in enough hospitals to recognize them. 

He opened his eyes and immediately regretted it as the fluorescent lights half-blinded him. He winced and squinted. The leather restraints prevented him from being able to rub his eyes. There was a faint gasp from his left. 

“Malcolm!” his mother was suddenly right there, wrapping him in a strong embrace. He tried to hide a wince as she squeezed his ribs. She immediately let him go, her eyes scanning for which injury had elicited the sound. “Are you alright? Should I call the nurse?” 

“No-” 

“Yes-” 

He and Gil gave the opposing answers at the same time and paused to look at each other. He hadn't noticed Gil there before then. 

“We were supposed to call for the nurse as soon as you woke up,” Gil said, a hit of disapproval in his voice. 

Malcolm groaned as Gil hit the call button and a nurse entered the room. He dreaded this part; he was hospitalized enough to know what happens next. He hated the physical examination, the questions. He just wanted to leave. 

“I’ll need you two to leave,” the nurse started, and his mother interrupted. 

“I will not be leaving this room until-” his mother’s stubbornness was, arguably, the worst part. He settled in to wait out the ensuing argument. 

~~~ 

Three days in the hospital was, in Malcolm's opinion, too many days in the hospital. (It should also be noted that he thought any amount of days in the hospital was too many). He gingerly walked up the stairs of his apartment with Dani hovering closely behind. She had insisted on escorting him home and he had reluctantly agreed. 

“Sunshine!” he grinned as he came up the stairs. The small bird hopped and chirped in excitement upon seeing him. He noticed that her food bowl had recently been refilled and tilted his head. 

“Who has been feeding sunshine?” he asked, turning to Dani. She smiled at the bird. 

“JT and I have been taking turns. Hope that you don't mind us breaking into your place,” she said, walking to the kitchen. He gaped at her retreating back. 

“ _ JT _ ? He willingly came here and fed my bird?” he shook his head, “Are we thinking of the same JT? About six feet tall, big guy, black?” 

Dani shook her head and snorted at his theatrics. 

“Yes, drama queen, him,” she was searching his pantry for something. He let Sunshine out of her cage before taking a seat on the kitchen counter. “Where do you keep your blender?” she asked. 

“I don't know,” he said. She turned and blinked at him. 

“You don't know? How do you not know?” she demanded, putting her hands on her hips. He shrugged and Sunshine chirped from where she was perched on his shoulder. 

“I don't even know if I have a blender,” he said, “But I probably do. Mother said that the kitchen is fully stocked.” Dani had that look on her face that told him she thought he was being ridiculous. 

“I can't believe you don't know what you have in your own kitchen,” she said. 

“I don't exactly cook much, Dani,” he reminded her. Her brows furrowed. 

“I have no idea how you even function on your own, but I see your point,” she finally conceded. 

“Fair. I bet I could guess where it is,” he said, looking around the kitchen with a critical eye. Dani watched as he seemed to narrow down where he thought it could be. “Left cabinet above the stove.” he pointed. 

“There’s no way,” she started incredulously as she opened the cabinet. Sure enough, there was the blender, right next to the waffle iron. “ _ No _ fucking way,” she said, this time sounding disbelieving. “How did you know that?” 

“It just seems like the most logical place for it to be,” he said, enjoying her bafflement. 

“Whatever,” she muttered and continued making the smoothie. 

Malcolm’s phone rang and he jumped at the unexpected noise. Dani glanced at him in concern. He quickly left her earshot to take the call. It was an unknown number. 

“Bright,” he answered. 

_ “Uh, hey Malcolm. It’s Sam. Winchester.”  _ Malcolm was a little taken aback. How had Sam gotten his number? More importantly, why? 

“Oh… hi,” he managed eloquently. 

_ “I just wanted to check that you were doing alright,”  _ Sam said, sounding as awkward as Malcolm felt.  _ “And apologize for hurting you. Even if it was necessary,” _ He honestly didn't mind Sam calling, it was just unexpected. He was about to respond when Dani called his name. 

“Sorry, I have to go,” he said hurriedly. He hadn't mentioned Sam in his official report or to his friends. He didn't want to explain the call to her now. “Thank you for calling, we should keep in contact,” 

_ “Well, you have my number,” _ Sam said, sounding bemused by the abrupt end to the phone call. 

“Great. Bye,” he hung up and turned to Dani, who was eyeing him suspiciously. 

‘What was that about?” she asked. He waved her off. 

“Telemarketers,” he said dismissively, eyeing the smoothies on the counter. 

“sure,” she said, but let it go. She noticed how he was looking at the smoothies with barely contained disdain. “Don't give me that look, you haven't even tried them,” 

As they would both soon find out, smoothies were one thing that he could actually stomach. If anyone noticed that he started drinking them more often, well, they weren't going to mention it. After all, if it worked for him, who were they to judge. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it for this fic! I hope y'all enjoyed it :) I might extend this into a series as a crossover with Supernatural if anyone would be interested in that.  
> (Side note: I do consider requests and prompts for future stories. If you have them, let me know!)


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